


Dry Your Christmas Tears

by andiheardeverything



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:45:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiheardeverything/pseuds/andiheardeverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt’s had a crush on his next door neighbor since he moved in. Christmas Eve, Kurt overhears something, and everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dry Your Christmas Tears

Kurt liked to spy on his next door neighbors. Well, not spy so much as… observe. They’d moved into the apartment next to his a few months after Kurt and while they’d never been formally introduced, Kurt felt like he knew them pretty well. For one, the walls in their building were made out of cardboard, and despite Kurt’s attempt at soundproofing with blankets, he could hear, well, everything.   
He didn’t know their names, had only waved to them in passing in the hall, and while Kurt would never admit it to anyone, he felt a strange swooping in his stomach whenever he ran into (and one time, actually quite literally) his neighbor with curly brown hair, warm eyes, and a charming smile. But he knew, from many late nights spent with his TV turned up and a pillow over his head, that his cute neighbor was in a committed and particularly affectionate relationship.

Kurt was happy for them, he really was. He was happy for everyone in a loving relationship (except Rachel, who had abandoned him to move in with her boyfriend, leaving him in a lonely apartment with twice as much rent to pay). It just stung sometimes, to know that he didn’t have that. Didn’t have someone to come home to. Someone to cook him dinner (which he frequently heard his neighbors bickering over), didn’t have someone to watch crappy TV with, or to spend lazy weekends with. There’d been guys in the past, but nothing that really stuck. Nothing that made Kurt happy in that way he craved, with butterflies in his stomach and a smile that would never leave his lips. But Kurt was focused, wouldn’t let his relationship melancholy ruin his mood or the career he’s just been starting to build. He was a performer, and a damn good one, and he wasn’t going to let a little self pity bring him down. Especially at Christmas.

‘Twas the night before Christmas….

It was Kurt’s first time staying in New York for Christmas, in the four years he’d been living here. He’d told his dad it was fine, he wanted them to go spend Christmas with Carole’s parents in Arizona. He had a lot of work to do anyway, going home would just set him back. He’d insisted and his dad had finally said okay, and that was that. Now Kurt is here, tacking up a festive wreath to his door, stringing lights around his tiny fake tree, by himself. He could have gone with Rachel, he supposes, or with Justine or Nick, but he didn’t want to impose. Awkward hellos and stilted meals with family of friends that he doesn’t know just didn’t sound like the most appealing way to spend the holidays. So he pours himself a glass of red wine, slices himself a generous amount of cheesecake, settles down on his couch, Mocha jumping on his lap and butting his arm with her head until he starts petting her, flips through the channels until he finds A Christmas Story, and prepares for a nice, quiet evening.

It’s nearing ten at night when he hears it. Shouting. At first he’s annoyed, pointedly turns up the volume on the TV to drown out the noise. But the shouting continues, followed by a bang and curiosity has Kurt pressing the mute button on the remote, sitting up straighter. The voices are muffled in that way you think you can hear what they’re saying, but when you listen you can’t make out any words. It sounds desperate though, one voice has an edge that Kurt associates with loss, with the feeling that your whole life is about to change and you’re desperately trying to cling to it. Another bang, like a door slamming and the voices are clearer, echoing and Kurt knows they’re in the hallway. Mocha jumps up, startled, and scampers away to her food dish. Kurt knows he shouldn’t listen in, it’s obvious something is happening, but he can’t help it, it’s not like he could focus on his movie now, and they are in the hallway after all. So he moves closer, sits himself on the ground next to the front door, and listens.

“…can’t just leave…” a voice says, pleads, and Kurt stares into his glass of red wine, gently swirls it.

“I’m sorry, Blaine, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were going…” the voice gets softer and Kurt can’t make out the rest of the sentence, but he can hear the soft sounds of a muffled sob.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s Christmas… you can’t… it’s… please…”

“Blaine, it’s over. I can’t… I just can’t do this anymore.”

There’s silence for a moment, the quiet sounds of crying and what sounds like a kiss, and then Kurt can hear footsteps, only one set, walking away. Quiet, and then a door closes.

Kurt lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he had been holding, takes a deep swig of his wine. He doesn’t know why he feels like his own heart has been broken, but there was something about the way his neighbor’s voice had sounded, how sad it had been, how resigned at the end, and it’s Christmas Eve. Christ. There should be some universal rule that prevents relationships from ending today, Kurt muses, on a day that should be reserved for happiness and family and love.

He doesn’t know what to do, now. It’s nearing ten-thirty and Kurt imagines all the children are probably already in bed, squeezing their eyes closed and wishing for sleep so they can wake up to the miracle of Christmas and the gifts that Santa has left them. There’s no other noise coming from the apartment next to his and Kurt’s not sure if that worries him more than the other alternative, and Mocha gazes at him accusatorily from the couch.

“What?” he shoots back and her and she ruffles her fur, as if personally offended that he isn’t sitting next to her on the couch. Kurt supposes no one likes to be alone on Christmas, not even his cat. With a sigh he steels himself, checks his hair briefly in the mirror, grabs his open bottle of wine, and opens the door to his apartment.

Three knocks on the neighbor’s door, sharp and quick, and Kurt can feel his pulse hammering in his throat, and hopes to God he’s doing the right thing. A long enough time passes that Kurt’s not sure if his neighbor is going to answer, and then he hears shuffling, the click as the handle is turned.

“Miles, I’m so… oh.” His neighbor cuts himself off when he takes in Kurt, obviously not who he’d been expecting to see. It’s the cute one, Kurt notes, with curly brown hair, but his eyes are bloodshot with red, his cheeks puffy and he looks absolutely miserable.

“Hi,” Kurt says, suddenly unsure. “I hope I’m not intruding I just…” He sucks in a breath, glances around to see if there’s a way out of this, he’s obviously made a mistake, he’s not prepared to deal with this kind of emotional turmoil on Christmas Eve. But the man is suddenly looking self conscious, trying to wipe his face off with his sleeve and straighten his shirt and there’s something about it, the fact that his whole world just got turned around and he still wants to at least appear okay to a stranger, that tugs at Kurt’s heart, makes him want to do what he can to make sure his Christmas isn’t completely ruined.

“Can I help you?” the man asks, managing to let only the tiniest quiver into his voice.

“I… I’m Kurt, your next door neighbor,” Kurt says, all at once. “I didn’t mean to but…. I just… I heard what happened and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I brought wine.”

“Oh,” the man says, managing to look surprised and crest-fallen all at once. “Um, I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” Kurt rushes to assure. “I don’t know why I came over, you don’t have to feel obligated to let me in, obviously you’re going through a lot. I just thought maybe… I didn’t want you to be alone on Christmas.”

The man just stares, looking at Kurt like he’s something he’s never seen before, and Kurt swallows thickly, uncomfortable by the man’s silence.

“Um, I’m alone too so, you know, if you do want some company, I’ll be around. You don’t even have to talk or anything, I have wine and cheesecake and a cat that’s perfect for soothing sorrows, so…” Kurt glances around. “I’ll just be over there. In my apartment. You’re welcome anytime.”

And with that he tries to give the man a comforting smile, hesitates a moment before making his way back to his own apartment. He collapses on the couch, feeling emotionally exhausted.

“At least I tried,” Kurt says to Mocha, scratching her behind the ears. “You’ll never leave me, will you?” Mocha purrs and stretches until her paw is resting on his leg.

He turns the volume back on the TV, though keeps it significantly more quiet this time, and settles back to watch Ralphie shoot his eye out and tries to forget about his sad, tear stained neighbor.

Thirty minutes pass and Kurt feels his eyes starting to get heavy, is about to call it a night and head to bed early, when there’s a tentative knock on his door. He stands, smoothes down his shirt, all thoughts of bed gone from his mind, and answers the door. His neighbor is there, head down and eyes nervous, shuffling his feet like he’s not sure if he should really be there.

His mouth opens, closes, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what. “Come in,” Kurt says when his neighbor starts to shake his head in frustration. “Please.”

“Okay.” It’s quiet, hesitant, but he steps inside the door, his shoulders hunched in to make him look so small and sad in a way Kurt doesn’t think anyone should feel. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Kurt assures quickly, leading him over to the couch. “Please, sit.”

He does, looking around like he can’t believe he’s here, and Mocha immediately leaps back onto the couch, sniffs at him cautiously before settling herself on his lap like he’s her own personal throne.

“Do you want some wine?” Kurt asks, not really sure what to do now. He nods, pets Mocha. Kurt disappears into the kitchen, pours the glass and refills his own, considers before getting out the cheesecake and cutting a large slice onto a plate. He takes his time balancing everything, wanting to give his neighbor a little bit to collect himself, before heading back into the living room.

“Here,” he hands the wine and cheesecake over, offers him a small smile. “Cheesecake always makes me feel better.”

“Thank you,” the man says gratefully and takes a long swig from the wine. Kurt settles himself on the couch, far enough from him to give him some space, but close enough to offer comfort if needed.

“I… um, I don’t know your name,” Kurt says, knows he sounds awkward but this whole situation is a little awkward, he supposes.

“Oh, where are my manners, I’m so sorry,” the man rushes to say. “I’m Blaine. My name is Blaine.”

“Nice to meet you Blaine,” Kurt says, tries to sound as warm and friendly as possible. “I’m Kurt.”

Blaine just offers a meek smile, turns back to his wine and cheesecake, and Kurt doesn’t push. He knows Blaine must be feeling fragile right now, and maybe all he needs is someone else to be there, to sit with him and not say anything. To not be alone.

There’s silence for awhile, Blaine eating his cheesecake and Kurt turns his attention back to watching the movie, though his eyes keep darting to his unexpected company. Blaine’s eyes are still sad, and he keeps stopping to blink furiously, like he’s trying to will away tears that refuse to be forgotten. Mocha is purring on his lap, and Blaine seems a bit comforted by this, occasionally scratching behind her ears and letting her lick his fingers.

“I proposed.” The words are quiet and unexpected, Blaine staring at his knees. Kurt just looks at him, a lump forming in his throat. “I… god.” A shaky breath. “I got down on one knee, like an idiot, and I asked him to spend the rest of his life with me. I got the ring weeks ago and I was waiting for the perfect moment and I just thought that… I didn’t think he would say no.”

Blaine looks up at Kurt, eyes wide like he’s begging for him to understand. “He said no. And he left. He said he’s been planning on leaving for awhile, he just didn’t want to over Christmas. Because he’s a nice guy.”

“Blaine, I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.” Kurt reaches out, touches a hand to Blaine’s shoulder before pulling away, not wanting to invade his space.

“It’s my fault,” Blaine says, shaking his head and looking back down. “I should have known better.”

“You loved him, it’s not your fault,” Kurt says softly, feels his own heart breaking a little bit.

“He doesn’t love me,” Blaine whispers, his voice cracking and tears finally spill over onto his cheeks. Kurt curses personal boundaries and scoots closer, lets his hand rub a soothing rhythm on Blaine’s back.

“Then he must be an idiot.” Blaine lets out another little sob, turns and Kurt lets him fall against him, his face tucking in against his shoulder and he just cries. Kurt wraps his arms around him, marvels at the fact that his previously lonely Christmas has ended up with an armful of crying boy.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Kurt sooths, rubs circles on Blaine’s back as he cries. Mocha must sense something is wrong because she’s currently nudging her head against Blaine’s arm, mewling occasionally and licking at his elbow. Blaine keeps crying, his breath hitching so it almost sounds like hiccups and Kurt knows he just needs to get it out, needs someone to hold him while he cries out the river of hurt that’s swelled inside of him. Kurt wonders if this is what it feels like to hold a breaking heart in your arms, to try and keep the pieces together, as well as you can. And he tries.

He holds Blaine until the tears subside, until his breathing evens out and slows down, until he’s drooping against Kurt in a way that Kurt knows means he’s fallen asleep. Kurt takes a moment to look at his face, strokes the back of his hand down Blaine’s cheek, damp with the remnants of tears, but he looks so much more peaceful now, his lips slightly parted, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. He imagines, just for a moment, what it would be like if someone felt this way about him. If someone loved him enough that losing him would make them feel like their whole world had been ripped apart, to have someone love him so much they’re ready to spend the rest of their life with him. Just him.

He wonders what it would feel like to mean the world to someone.

With a sigh he slowly detaches Blaine from himself, lowers him down on the couch slowly, situating a pillow under his head. Blaine blinks sleepily up at him but Kurt just shushes him and smiles reassuringly. “Sleep, it’ll be okay.” And so Blaine does. Kurt covers him with a blanket, pauses a moment before something comes over him and he touches a light kiss to Blaine’s forehead before turning out the light and leaving to his bedroom, Mocha padding behind him.

-

The next morning Kurt wakes to the sound of texts messages. It seems all his friends have decided to send mass Merry Christmas texts before nine in the morning and Kurt frowns at his phone. Didn’t it know he was trying to sleep? He rolls over in bed with a groan and is greeted with a faceful of brown fur, Mocha looking at him expectantly. She meows once and leaps off the bed and he knows if he doesn’t get up and get her her food now she’ll throw a fit. So he rolls himself out of bed, pulls on his slippers and bathrobe, shuffles into the bathroom and splashes his face with water.

Starting to feel a bit more like a human being he makes his way towards the kitchen, Mocha winding herself dangerously between his feet, and he stops. Stares.

Oh yeah.

There’s a sleeping body on his couch, dark hair peeking from the top of a blanket, one arm dangling off the edge, his fingers just brushing the floor, his feet propped up on the armrest. Kurt hesitates, isn’t sure what to do now. He’d forgotten that Blaine had stayed the night. Blaine, his next door neighbor that he’d been crushing on since he moved in, that had had his heart broken and his life changed the night before Christmas. Who had spent his night in a stranger’s apartment, because he didn’t want to be alone.

Mocha’s mewling pulls him from his thoughts. He puts his finger to his lips, not wanting her to wake him just yet, and silently makes his way to the kitchen. He feeds Mocha (and gives her a little extra too, because it’s Christmas), before starting a pot of coffee. Drumming his fingers on the countertop he waits for it to brew, gazes out the small window over his sink. It snowed last night, a fresh layer coating the streets below and Kurt thinks it looks beautiful, wonders if all the kids are anxiously waiting for the moment when they can go outside and make snowmen, maybe sled in their brand new toboggans.

The smell of coffee fills the kitchen and he closes his eyes, inhales. There’s just something about it, the way it spreads warmth tingling through his body, the way the scent already begins to make him feel more awake. He pours two cups when the carafe is near full, guesses that Blaine looks like someone who enjoys a splash of cream. Kurt’s about to carry the cups out to the living room, tucking a book under his arm to read until Blaine wakes up when he has a thought. A smile pulls at his lips and he ducks back into his room, rummages through his closet as quietly as possible until he finds it.

Perfect.

It takes another fifteen minutes for Blaine to stir awake, his eyes blinking open slowly. He looks around the room, obviously disoriented, rubs at his eyes as he pushes himself into a sitting position.

“Merry Christmas,” Kurt greets, smiles at him and sticks his bookmark back into his book. Blaine just stares at Kurt a moment, confusion on his face and Kurt can pinpoint the moment he remembers, the light leaving his eyes and his body drooping down, defeated.

“I’m sorry.” These are the first words Blaine mutters and Kurt wishes he didn’t feel the need to say them. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here last night.”

“Nonsense,” Kurt brushes off his apology. “I wanted you to. I wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone.”

Blaine’s eyes flicker up to him, something that looks a bit like wonder held in them.

“Now, I made you some coffee, so drink up,” Kurt says, motioning towards the cup. “And it looks like Santa came last night.”

He pushes the small bag towards Blaine, biting his lip to keep from smiling too much like an idiot.

“You… what?”

“It’s a Christmas gift,” Kurt says, still smiling. Blaine just blinks. “For you. Merry Christmas.”

“A Christmas gift?” Blaine repeats, like his mouth his testing out the words, seeing if this is real or if Kurt will start laughing at him for falling for some sort of cruel joke.

“It’s generally what you give on Christmas,” Kurt says, a teasing note in his voice and he really, really hopes this is okay. That he’s not stepping too far or making Blaine uncomfortable. “Open it.”

Blaine eyes the gift, tentatively reaches forward and takes it in his hands. The newspaper Kurt has hastily shoved in the bag crinkles as Blaine pulls it out, sets it gingerly on the table. He reaches back in and this time pulls out a small wooden box, the edges chipped like it’s been worn down and used. With careful hands, Blaine opens the box, stares inside before looking up at Kurt, confused.

“They’re worry dolls,” Kurt explains with a gentle smile. “My mom gave them to me when I was little, just before she died. You’re supposed to sleep with them under your pillow and they’ll take your worries away. I don’t know if they really work, but whenever I’m having a rough time, I put them under my pillow and, well, it helps. And I thought maybe you might need a little extra help right now.”

“Kurt, I couldn’t possibly… these mean too much,” Blaine tries to put the box of worry dolls back in Kurt’s hand but Kurt just pulls away.

“When you’re feeling better, you can give them back. But right now, I think you need them more than me.”

Blaine’s eyes grow wide and he clutches the box close to his chest and for a moment Kurt thinks he’s going to cry, but he doesn’t, just swallows a few times, clears his throat.

“Thank you, just… I can’t thank you enough. I don’t even know you and,” he gives a dry laugh, “you’ve already shown me more kindness than…”

Kurt just gives a sad smile when Blaine trails off, sees by the way his throat twitches that he can’t say his name, not yet. Not so soon. Blaine looks up at Kurt, reaches forward to touch a hand to his knee before withdrawing.

“You’ve helped turn the potentially worst Christmas of my life to… well, not a great one, but a bearable one. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Kurt says and screw it, he’s hugging Blaine. And they do, and Blaine is warm and feels more together than he did last night, and somehow Kurt knows that he did a little bit of good, that he helped make Blaine’s life just a little bit better.

And honestly, he couldn’t think of a better Christmas gift.

“Now, I say we eat Cocoa Puffs and watch cheesy Christmas movies and spend the day in our pajamas.”

Blaine gives Kurt a smile that’s not quite shaky, but not quite all the way there yet. But considering his circumstances, Kurt thinks it’s probably better than he could have hoped for.

“That sounds perfect,” he agrees, and even gives a tiny laugh when Mocha jumps up on his lap, turning in a circle before promptly collapsing.

“Merry Christmas Blaine.”

“Merry Christmas.”

And Kurt smiles, because he knows Blaine means it.


End file.
